Femme Fatale
by voicelord
Summary: Jackson was the master of body language. He was damn good at his job: the best in the profession. But what if - for some unknown reason - he had blurted out 'Bay Breeze' as Lisa's drink of choice on that fateful day? Jack x Lisa
1. Grape nuts and a Guy named Duke

**Summary:** All Lisa wanted was a nice strong drink, preferably a Sea Breeze, even if it was four in the morning. Opting for a bit of comfort food before heading back to her apartment from the goddamn airport, the pretty hotel manager bumps into a handsome man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen.  
**Pairing:** Jackson Rippner & Lisa Reisert  
**Note:** It's been such a long time since I've written fan-fictions. Certainly, the first time I've ever written anything for a movie. In response to a request by a very good friend of mine: Hope you all enjoy.

**Chapter 1: Grape nuts and a Guy named Duke**

Late night flights were absolutely the _worst_.

Uncomfortable economic seating plans, never-ending lines to gain access to lavatories, over-excited teenagers and not to mention the freaking **delays**: It was a miracle the pretty hotel manager had made it back to Miami in a relatively sane mind-frame.

She would gladly trade Dr Phil enthusiasts for politically-driven terrorists not to mention voluntarily replacing hot-headed irate passengers with deranged psychopaths.

…But then again, be careful with what you wish for.

Taking another deep breath, Lisa Reisert swore upon her very soul, no matter how urgent or crucial, to never venture into red-eye flights. She had not felt this bone-weary since sprinting up and down the stairway like a headless chicken due to a 'technical mishap' with the employees' elevator few months back. Even just _thinking_ about it had her stomach churning.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the petite female – once again – prayed for a sense of inner equilibrium.

Sweeping auburn locks away from her face, olive green eyes lightly smiled at the matronly counter staff making the final checks for clearance.

With minor pleasantries and a quick stamp upon her already packed passport, Lisa briskly walked towards the exit; relieved to be – _officially_ – back home.

Nevertheless, it had been good to catch up with everyone in Dallas despite the unfortunate circumstance. But honestly, the funeral had been dignified and light-hearted. Obviously, lots of tears had been shed on behalf of the deceased woman. But they had reminisced. Everyone had remembered the brave strong lady who had always looked forward by extracting all that life had to offer. Her grandmother had effortlessly blessed and motivated all those fortunate enough to be included within her vast circle of family, friends and acquaintances.

Her quirky philosophies and her adamant belief regarding grape nuts: Surprisingly, it had been these very qualities that had gotten Lisa through the most trialling times – the brief hostage ordeal at the car park near her hairdressers. If it hadn't been the solid presence of her grandmother with her optimistic yet realistic outlook, she would have surely spiralled into the oppressive cycle of victimisation and self-pity. Subconsciously tracing the crisp fabric of her dress shirt, just above her right breast, traitorous thoughts, once again, steered towards the fateful day when a knife – one tiny little _fucking_ blade anyone could purchase at a convenience store – had rendered her immobile and incapable of retaliation.

Lisa Reisert had always been the most level-headed girl since high school.

She prided in herself for being independent, strong, practical, no-nonsense and straight-to-the-point kind of woman who did not take any shit from anybody; unless, of course, they were a customer at the Lux Atlantic Hotel. And even then, there were limits.

But when the smell of burned wood and greasy take-outs had enveloped her nostrils, those thick rough hands clamming onto her face in a painful grip while the other clutching onto that damn blade being mercilessly pushed again the top of her hammering breast, her petrified mind had gone completely numb with fear and terror.

…They say one tends to remember the voice of the perpetrator.

But his gruff tone hadn't scared her. In actuality, she hadn't registered _any_ of his threats.

All she remembers is the slimy trail that _freaking_ **hand** makes as it travels down the length of her quivering neck, chest, queasy stomach and finally, her hip.

It's the **invasion** that has her frozen solid.

It is the fact that he was able to freely touch her because he very well could that had her shuddering for hours afterwards.

…If it hadn't been for the department store worker on a cigarette break, that hand would have surely ripped away her pencil skirt and violated her in broad daylight.

Even as William – who still works in the outdoor section of the department store and who she is still in contact with – yells after the coward scampering past the rows of vehicles while frantically dialling for the police, all Lisa is capable of doing is just barely refraining from vomiting all over the car park. It is only after filing the report at the police station that she _feels_ the pain, the injured patch of skin already covered by bandages.

Technically – they had said – she hadn't been raped, hadn't been forcefully penetrated. Hence – they had reasoned – there was no reason to frat or frazzle. But she could have been violated, she _could_ still be violated and it is this **possibility** that had momentarily skewed the axis of her structured world. Finally departing the large infrastructure of the airport and in a much sombre mood upon deep reflection, the young beauty automatically instructed the cab-driver to drop her off at central city. It was already four in the morning. Collapsing into the back seat, Lisa absent-mindedly watched the flickering street lights illuminating the still vacant highway.

…It had taken months. The chord of vulnerability had haunted her soul for _months_.

But she had overcome the mind-gripping terror. After all, she had always been a fighter.

With renewed vigour, olive green orbs sparkled with confidence and determination.

Suddenly feeling not at all tired and somewhat triumphant, she makes the impulsive decision to forgo sleep entirely and have a mini celebration of her own.

It looked like a bottle of Sea Breeze was in order.

xXxXxXxXxXx

At the corner of his eyes, Jackson noted the graceful movement with masculine appreciation.

It was very difficult **not** to notice the pretty newcomer.

Taking another sip of his scotch, sharp blue orbs discreetly trailed after the petite female yet to onlookers – if there were any – the handsome male appeared to be lazily scanning the entire restaurant in all that of leisure.

It was getting close to five in the morning and Tex Mex Café was packed with late-comers and early-risers.

Famous for its insanely good tacos, the 24-hour joint was always busy positioned in central Miami city.

He would bet his next assignment's payment, even though he was not much of a gambling man, the captivating woman had made a last-minute decision to wind down with comfort food and a nice drink to boot. If her single luggage bag was an indication, she had just arrived from the airport. Jackson was certainly in a similar situation. Before heading out to complete…_business_ over in New York, he had decided to get a quick bite to eat. There was one thing he could **not** stand even more than empty-headed air hostesses [luckily, a minority group in the industry] trying to land themselves eligible first-class passengers was the food provided in airports.

Now, a combination of both aeroplane food and a ditzy blonde in the confines of a metal structure travelling mid-air with no prospect of an escape route: _That_ would certainly be a challenge even to a resourceful man such as Jackson Rippner.

He'd certainly be able to pull it off. But that didn't mean he would enjoy it.

"Sorry, is this seat taken?" A soft voice vibrated from his left.

"No, all yours," Jackson smoothly replied with an easy grin.

Noting with interest the way she twirled a single curl while eyeing the menu, the very first thing that struck his mind was her smile. There was an openness to it – carefree and almost childlike – that was both sweet and refreshing in comparison to the calculating sultry looks women tended to throw in his direction.

"Could I buy you a drink?" He found himself gently asking.

The next thing he noticed was her olive green eyes: confident, focused and **striking**. They regarded him in mild surprise as she was visibly struggling to formulate an appropriate answer.

He had expected that reaction. "If I can guess," Jackson quickly added, not wanting to give up her company just yet.

"…Okay." With a timid smile, the young woman conceded.

Friendly, yet not stupidly over-trusting. He approved of her caution.

Already having noted the way her eyes had strayed towards the vodka section since the moment she dumped her luggage to the side, Jackson simply paused for dramatisation – as if he was a magician conjuring up the powers needed to perform the next trick in the book. Presenting a cheeky grin of his own, the astute male noted with delight when she rewarded him with a slightly more relaxed smile.

"I'm feeling vodka…definitely sweetened, Cosmo?"

Chuckling at her cute frown, he continued on with the game of his own making. "No, too common," he thoughtfully remarked. With expressive eyes like that, this one was far from being ordinary.

"…Screwdriver."

It is a quick shake of her head this time, thick curls catching the florescent light.

"Too boring," Jackson softly mumbled. "So that leaves me with the simplicity of a grapefruit or the complexity of a pineapple..." Ready to make the final strike, sharp blue orbs regarded the companion before him, noting every single detail and stashing away all the information she was unconsciously providing with every artless movement of her hands and alluring tilt of her head. All in all, stunning in such a way men could not help but admire with an elegance about her that required respect.

And for some unknown reason, he was momentarily undone.

"…Pineapple, Bay Breeze." And as soon as the words escaped his lips, Jackson had to school his features to conceal the surprise pulsating through his body.

Jackson Rippner was rarely surprised. And he could **never** be stunned into silence. And yet, this stranger had somehow managed to do _both_ in less than five minutes since their impromptu introduction. He was a master of body language and when she had subtly relaxed at the sound of grapefruit, Jackson had instantly known he had hit jackpot. And yet, for some reason, he wanted to give her a sense of satisfaction as the winner in this trivial game between strangers.

Perhaps even give her a sense of control over their interaction.

Mischievously leaning towards the bartender, olive green eyes never once broke eye-contact. "Ah, could I have a…Sea Breeze?" Her sweet voice stirred softly in the air. "Impressive talent, though. Very close."

When her brilliant smile – clearly showing she was enjoying his company – turned towards him in full force, Jackson couldn't bring himself to care.

He would ponder over his uncharacteristic response when he boarded the aeroplane in a few hours.

Putting good use of his ice-breaking, the handsome male promptly engaged the petite female – soon discovering her name, Lisa – for a long conversation before his inevitable departure to catch that damn flight.

And it would be exactly two weeks and three days in counting until the professional assassin orchestrates their second meeting.


	2. I'll Finish the Job

**Chapter 2: I'll Finish the Job**

"I instructed them to leave your bedroom as it is." Tightly hugging his only daughter, Joe Reisert blurted out the only thing that had concerned him for weeks.

"Dad, you're most welcome to change it into a…gym or something. Really, don't go wasting a perfectly good room." Lisa exclaimed – her words somewhat muffled by her father's favourite sweater.

In truth, Joe had obtained permission months ago to finally put away her childhood knick-knacks and high school belongings into a gigantic dusty box where treasured possessions are [usually] packed into, at least until one felt compelled enough to travel down memory lane. And yet, when it came to the physical act of picking up her worn-out teddy bear, her hockey stick and trophies…he had **bulked**.

After the dreadful yet inevitable separation with his partner of many years, in truth, all Joe had to keep him grounded was his precious Lisa.

She was the only thing that was good in his life.

And by replacing her room, Joe felt as if he was slowly but surely severing the only physical connection that kept her here with him instead of all the way over in Dallas with her mother.

It had instantly made him feel decades older.

"Nonsense." With an almost apologetic look, the patriarch of the Reisert family led Lisa towards the kitchen – only one of the few areas barely escaping the destructive pathway of renovation. "Now, let's eat!"

…Her father had outdone himself, _again_.

The seafood pasta was absolutely superb and Lisa could not wait for desserts.

Laughing out heartily as she took another sip of the Sauvignon blanc, Lisa vigorously defended her side of the argument in their little repartee. "I'm perfectly fine, dad. Please do **not** change my answering machine like you did when I was in college."

"What? It worked didn't it?" A cheeky grin spread across his features.

At least there was physical proof of who Lisa took after.

"Yes, threatening bodily harm to the entire male population in campus was real mature. Did you know that Pete was so petrified when he heard the answering machine that he literally _fled_ whenever I entered the library?" Rolling her eyes dramatically, she went in for the kill and grabbed all of the remaining garlic bread.

"Sweetie, trust me. The most dangerous creatures in this planet are those parading around as harmless looking college boys."

"Well, your little girl is safe now that she is no longer surrounded by college boys but rather, by professional working men." _Not to mention handsome strangers in a Mexican Restaurant at five in the morning after a red-eye flight._

…Her overprotective father did **not** need to know about that little development.

Besides, it wasn't like she was going to bump into him – his name, Jackson, _not_ Jack – in the near future.

Oh, he had been definitely easy on the eyes: good-looking, well-mannered, immaculate conversation skills, suave yet a hint of boyish charm to his overall persona. And the most intense, _bluest_ eyes she had ever seen. All in all, quite a charming man who probably had scores of women eating at the palm of his hand.

But Lisa Reisert was not most women.

She wasn't about to hand over her number to strangers, no matter how fine-looking and smooth they may be.

It was a shame there weren't more guys like him in the world. Certainly would make dating a lot easier for the general female population.

Unaware of his daughter's train of thought, Joe continued on with their little banter. "On the contrary, my dear; the _second_ most dangerous creatures prowling around are men in harmless looking business suits."

And Joe Reisert had **no** idea how right he was.

xXxXxXxXxXx

"…By the way, nice suit, Jackson." The deep voice reluctantly offered.

The normally loud and obnoxious agent was unusually quiet and overly cautious.

Steve Nickson – building construction consultant by day and disposal man by night – uneasily stared off into the distance, basically anywhere **but** the higher-up individual sitting directly across the majestic wooden desk. Another minute of torturous silence, and Nickson finally started shifting his weight from one leg to the other. _This was definitely not a good sign_. How ridiculous he must have looked, the gigantic ex-boxer fidgeting like a little five-year-old boy caught with a cookie before dinner time.

Nervously scratching the top of his scarred left eye, a freak accident that had occurred in a high-profile assassination attempt during his fifth year in the business, the sole visible eye darted across the spacious office completely draped in expensive carpet and fancy-looking ornaments from all over the world.

Located at the very top of the lofty tower, they were positioned much too far above ground to really examine the countless of individuals going about their business in the busy streets of New York. Sure enough, Nickson would have given just about _anything_ to be one of those mindless drones manoeuvring through peak-hour traffic.

For a brief moment in time, the nervous agent was able to occupy his unsteady mind with the carved sculpture of an animal – _perhaps a cat or a disfigured elephant?_ – to the far end of the office.

But even that does not last long. And he was quickly running out of ideas.

…The situation plummeting from bad to **disastrous** in a matter of seconds.

And one had to be always on the look out when dealing with the terrifying adversary that was Jackson Rippner. And it was pretty fucking ridiculous considering Nickson practically towered the much leaner and slightly shorter male. Yet, he was perfectly aware, from years of experience and countless of missions completed together, how damn intimidating the 'contractor' could be. After all, the blue-eyed devil _never_ lied and Nickson was not about to find out how many ways a person really **could** be killed with a harmless looking pen that was being twirled dangerously by the young assassin.

Very well aware of what those lean yet taut muscles were capable of – rendering men twice his size immobile with a fucking _single_ twist of an arm not to mention a mean right-hook – Nickson was not stupid enough to tempt fate twice in one week.

Better to be safe than sorry.

As if reading the older man's frantic thoughts, sharp blue eyes never once lifted away from the report at hand.

…_A fucking sadist, that's what he was_.

And as usual, the silence was finally making Nickson anxious. And when Nickson got anxious, he tended to babble – a lot.

"Like a…really nice suit; I mean, fuck man. I don't swing that way but if I had, I would-"

"Steve." It was _that_ dangerous tone again. "Shut the hell up."

At least the unbearable, **excruciatingly** _agonising_ silence was finally over.

"…I want you to fire the mastermind behind this bullshit." Angrily flipping through the papers, a thoroughly pissed-off Jackson finally looked up.

And Nickson did not feel a hint of shame for flinching.

"If you'd just let me explain-"

"Hold an employee hostage, threatening them with the safety of their family members, and get them to make a bloody call to the main office?" Jackson snarled.

And when the untameable predator abruptly arose from his desk, Nickson had to secretly pat himself on the back for not squealing like a little girl and dropping into a roll to take cover. These [instinctual] fight-or-flight modes were sometimes more trouble than they were worth.

"It may look…a little risky on paper but-" The older male lamely tried to defend his position but the contractor, obviously, had other ideas.

"Get them to change the company codes at second level before the bastard makes his way down for his evening conference?" Prowling around his victim like a ferocious tiger circling its fallen prey in ease and dominance, sharp blue eyes were sizing up the situation – calculating the minimal amount of force required to mercilessly crush his enemies into oblivion.

That stress management course didn't seem like such a bad idea, right about now.

"W-Well, that is…I mean…he would-"

"…Rocket launchers? What the fuck is this? Who came up with this shitty piece of work? We don't pay good money to receive movie scripts. Even your nine-year-old son would have constructed a better strategy than this piece of crap."

And the report was mercilessly ripped to shreds by the young assassin.

"Hey man! My little Ben is gifted. You wait and see. He'll be writing **your** mission briefs in no time!" And before Nickson could pull out the worn-out photo of his beloved son from his wallet – the very photo that had to be circulated throughout the entire office at least once a week by the all too enthusiastic [crazy] father – the tirade came to a momentary halt.

"Honey," a sultry voice with a slight accent echoed from the left. "Please shut up."

So occupied, one by the objective of staying alive and the other hell-bent on biting the former's head off, both males had failed to register the new addition to the office; the light footsteps concealed by their loud voices and the expensive carpet.

At the sight of a relatively _sane_ individual, Jackson finally relaxed; opting for the leather couch instead.

The mere sight of a steaming coffee mug helped to calm him – significantly. "…An early April-Fool's gift from your husband and son, Natalie?" Taking a grateful sip of the dark concoction, Jackson briefly regarded the Asian female – the older sister he had never had.

Calm, meticulous and efficient, Natalie – also known as Mrs. Nickson by the neighbours – was a model employee.

And he didn't know what the hell she saw in Steve.

"Exactly. Now, here is the **real** mission brief." With an almost apologetic look, a much thicker folder was presented.

Everything about this mature woman was fixed and clear-cut: from her pristinely ironed suit to her short hair style. She had been working in this organisation, even longer than Jackson or Steve, since emigrating from Japan – completing her college degree within American soil. How the heck a qualification in political studies resulted upon a full-time position in this organisation...Then again, he himself had been a business major. The sheer wonders of life.

"And who will be assigned to this?" The tone of his voice softened dramatically, very much satisfied with the [professionally-done] strategies unfolding before him.

But, then, he had always been a sucker for freshly ground coffee.

"At this point in time, Damien and Ted. Nothing's final." She curtly replied.

Encaging his small wife from behind, the old faithful giant could not let that suggestion go unvoiced.

"We're teaming up the sociopath with the fucking psychopath? Please tell me it's not that time of the month, Sweetie!" Finally out of the red-danger zone, Nickson was back to his old obnoxious self – jesting and turning everything into a gigantic jumble of comedy and jokes.

That was until his small yet highly dangerous partner elbowed him squarely in the abdomen.

"…I still don't know what could have possibly induced you to marry him, Natalie." Dryly regarding his coughing friend, Jackson could not help but sarcastically phrase the question of the century.

"Momentary insanity." And never missing a beat, the female agent did not disappoint.

And just like that, the world made perfect sense again.

"I'm still here people!"

Ignoring the doubled-over figure, whining away; the unsympathetic said wife quickly shuffled through the rest of the files making sure she had not missed anything crucial. "By the way, the big boss was really pleased with your latest mission." And as soon as those words escaped her lips, Natalie narrowly avoided groaning out loud at her senselessness. The instant chill that descended upon the office was all too evident. Adjusting her glasses, suddenly finding it extremely difficult to make eye contact with the stiff figure seated on the leather couch, management's team leader desperately tried to rectify the situation riddled by that of the _forbidden _– boundaries that are **never **to be crossed.

"Yes, I seem to have exceptional talent when it comes to disposing money-grabbing, self-centred, corrupt politicians who try to steal from the people. The heroic modern version of Robin Hood," swallowing the rest of the content in one go, narrowed eyes refused to regard the couple before him.

"I'm just saying, Jackson."

"Stop sweetening reality, Natalie. I kill people. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You kill those who threaten the safety of American citizens." The automatic response came out a little too mechanical, a little too rehearsed and she had to wince at the sound of her own unconvincing tone.

Not even worth a proper reply, Jackson forcefully tugged at the top of his dress shirt, loosening a couple of buttons as if the restricting collar was slowly choking him.

"Stop being such a fucking pessimist, man." Loosing that playful bite, Nickson firmly stepped forward – always the dependable personnel when others would cower and withdraw. "What my sweet lovely wife is trying to say is that you've already completed a case that should have taken three months in roughly three weeks. Get that skinny ass of yours away from the office and get a fucking tan."

Grunting out what seemed to resemble an affirmation Jackson abruptly arose and passed his long-time colleagues – lightly tapping Natalie on the shoulder as a silent pardon – as he reached for his suit jacket and personal belongings.

Discretely extracting a light file from the rarely used cabinet situated beside his coat hanger, the severe glare evaporated entirely as blue eyes lightened in an instant.

"Heard you're thinking about purchasing a place in Miami. On the look out for the beach-hotties?" Nickson's deep voice, in that not-too-concerned tone, echoed from behind.

Scanning over much more **interesting** paper work, his broad back still turned towards the couple, Jackson expertly absorbed the extensive background information on lovely Miss Lisa Reisert.

"…Maybe." With an almost wolfish-grin, Jackson still refused to turn around enthralled by the photo of a stunning woman with curly auburn hair.

Soon. Very soon.


	3. Anything but a Bay Breeze

**Chapter 3: Anything but a Bay Breeze**

Her grip on the menu slackened as complete surprise overwhelmed her.

Life's irony: she had her ample share of stories. The 'Big Guy's Cruel Jokes': she was _equally_ aware of. Murphy's Law: she and Murphy weren't the best of friends sometimes; that was for sure.

Despite such a diverse background, Lisa Reisert wouldn't have, in a million years, expected something quite like **this**.

She had never been a big fan of fate and destiny. It was a little too cliché for her taste.

But this – whatever _this_ was – she had no clever words or infamous quotes.

Doing a pretty good impression of a gaping fish, the auburn-haired woman stared back.

…At the widened blue orbs regarding her in boyish wonder and astonishment.

She only half-registers her response to his warm greeting.

But when he retorted with such masculine ease and unpretentious charm: "Wait a minute. You're not stalking me, are you?"

All she can do is laugh out loud in genuine delight.

* * *

"Oh! Didn't know you were still sleeping, Lisa. Sorry about that! I thought-"

Before the young assistant could _alphabetically_ list her infinite apologies, Lisa quickly intervened.

Tugging at her wild curls while stifling a yawn, she tried to formulate a coherent sentence – somewhat.

"…No worries, Cynthia. It was time I got my lazy ass out of bed. What's up?" Flipping onto her stomach, Lisa leisurely stretched her body with a content sigh. Being able to sleep in on a Friday was _the_ life. The advantage of being one of the senior managers was the roster rotation – all four supervisors getting a proper three-day weekend once a month.

In a hushed tone, intended for Lisa's ears only, the flustered young woman stumbled over her words. "T-There is an elderly couple here at the counter and-"

Couples always seemed to be the most demanding with one individual fuelling the other that seemed to justify commands of all sorts. And elderly ones always spelled **trouble**.

Sluggishly making her way towards the kitchen – more specifically, towards her pre-timed coffeemaker permeating her cosy apartment with its rich aroma – the still disoriented hotel manager suppressed the urge to sigh out loud.

"Isn't Bruce the manager of the day? Where is he?" _Best to pass these troubles over to another person_…

"Well…let's just say if I don't bother **you**, they will be calling the corporate."

"Ouch, what do they want?"

Frowning at the mental image, the sympathetic female swiftly replaced the minor error with succinct instructions over the phone; spending the next few minutes calming the frazzled strawberry blonde.

"God, they totally threw me." Cynthia bitterly spat out. It looked like the coast was clear – for now. "They were _such_ assholes."

"Cynthia, there are no guests who are assholes. Only guests with special needs."

With a light chuckle, Lisa tried to put on her best 'senior-manager' voice while locating her favourite mug.

"Oh, Lisa; you don't really believe that, do you?"

The horrified gasp was not lost upon the perceptive supervisor. "…No, not really." This was followed soon after by a burst of laughter, both females giggling like high-school teenagers until a much calmer Cynthia went straight in for the kill – adopting the all-too-familiar role of the eager matchmaker.

"So you ready for that date tonight?"

Groaning at another noisy interrogation session, Lisa opted for a **long** sip of the life-giving entity that was her morning coffee.

"That depends. Have you been conspiring with all your little girlfriends again?"

"Nope, just a regular, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary blind date. No surprises, I swear!" The young assistant quickly exclaimed; a little _too_ quickly for Lisa's liking.

And just like that, the dread intensified to pure terror.

"Cynthia…I'm warning you. If I find myself in another short piece of cloth that resembles more of a shrunken top rather than a proper dress, I will personally assign you to cater to the diverse needs of tourists crashing onto our shores in, not one, or two, but **three** packed buses next week."

"You looked _hot_ in that little red number! You cannot punish me for putting to good use chic and stylish trends of modern fashion." The frantic assistant adamantly defended her position.

Snorting at the idea of nonexistent dress hems being considered 'stylish' Lisa was far more sceptical over the prospect of her butt-cheeks popping out every time she moved. She did not think it would be particularly welcomed by the high fashion industry.

"Besides, the dress hadn't been _that_ short." Complete silence ensued. "…And there is the wise saying: Flaunt what you have!" Cynthia lamely continued and yet, the sound of Lisa sipping her morning beverage was all that echoed in response. "Alright, alright! I'll behave. I promise. No surprise make-over from me tonight."

Exclaiming out in defeat, the strawberry blonde finally relented to her stubborn team leader.

"You do realise I am only going out tonight because you wouldn't leave me alone since I've come back from Dallas?" The said manager drily remarked. It was the truth, after all.

Trotting over to the couch Lisa practically threw herself, a few drops of her precious coffee spilling in the process.

"Like I said, he's a friend of a friend. He saw you at the counter last week and was **really** eager. But no strings attached. Just regular dinner and drinks and you don't have to call him afterwards if he's not your type. And plus, you don't even need to give him your number." These blind date scenarios were already too familiar. But at least this one sounded legitimate, unlike the 'unexpected' and 'uncoordinated' encounter with Cynthia's other male friend in her routine runs. "…I just want you to have a really great time. You should be blessing the general male population with your lovely presence more often! And he sounds like a decent guy. Please, Lisa?"

_Damn that sugar-coated-concern-of-a-friend tone!_

"I know. I do appreciate your…concern, although sometimes you are just too enthusiastic for your own good. But I'll try to have a good time tonight." Lisa drawled out half-heartedly, internally reminding herself that 'try' was quite a contentious term providing a lot of wiggling room.

"And?"

It was, unfortunately, Lisa's turn to relent.

"…And I won't leave straight after the main course with fake phone-calls from work."

Momentarily blocking out screams of excitement over the phone, Lisa briefly wondered if she would severely regret these words by the end of the day.

xXxXxXxXxXx

…She was going to kill Cynthia and bury her in shark-infested waters.

In actual fact, it wasn't _that_ bad.

Nevertheless, a waste of an evening was still a waste of an evening.

The guy was nice. Not the brightest bulb out of the bunch but still, a nice enough guy – a computer technician in some fancy corporation specialising in security.

Initially, when he had introduced himself with the job description following soon after, Lisa had been truly _genuinely_ **authentically** excited; quite intent on educating herself the dangers and downfalls of the global phenomenon that was the internet. She always loved hearing stories from individuals of diverse backgrounds and qualifications – since she had been a little girl. It was probably one of the main reasons why she was so good at her job. But moving onto the main point, it was extremely unfortunate Alex did not have the gift of words.

Despite the different number of tasks he must be performing at a daily basis – from the security of the individual, businesses and perhaps, even the State – it was his one-dimensional perspective that seemed to be his own demise.

His black and white view of the world would have dulled the Milky Way.

Responding with a polite smile, the pretty hotel manager went back to – very slowly – carving her medium-rare lamb chops, focusing all her attention on the precise clean cut rather than the dreary dialogue on all the problems the hardware department was causing for the elite software programmers in his organisation.

…On top of communication-challenges, looked like her blind date had severe superiority-complexes.

When – finally – Alex excused himself to go to the restroom, Lisa almost collapsed onto the fancy restaurant table.

Severely tempted to pull her usual stunt of an urgent call from the hotel; the mentally-exhausted female helplessly glared at her half-eaten lamb, wishing it would spontaneously combust, until a passerby – avoiding the slightly tipsy group of diners – lightly bumped into her table. The table-for-two shook slightly, yet with enough force for the wine bottle to wobble from side to side; situated at the very edge. Luckily, the stranger was _quick_. Sweeping the precariously placed bottle in one clean catch, not a single drop being wasted onto the wooden floor, he expertly held the beverage like the most seasoned professional waiter.

And before Lisa could applaud the most fascinating event of the night, olive orbs widened at the sight of a familiar figure.

Silence ensued for that one single moment in time.

Breaking away from the stupor in quick succession, Jackson's grin widened significantly further rendering her incapable of proper speech for that extra second longer.

An extra second was all he needed to gain control over their interaction this time round.

With a slight bow and one arm folded behind his back – an epitome of etiquette and well-bred manners – the much composed male leaned closer to refill her wine glass, blue eyes lightening as the smooth complexion before him gained a delicious hue to them.

"Will you be needing anything else, ma'am?" She had no idea how delightfully **adorable** those rose cheeks looked on her, not to mention the tasteful cut of that very, _very_ nice black dress.

"Unless you can also do flaming desserts, probably not, kind sir," Lisa stammered slightly, but managing to finally catch herself in the end.

"I always aim to please. Plus, I am a very quick learner." With a playful wink, the handsome newcomer smoothly placed the wine bottle in its original location. But when those intense blue eyes gazed back in full force, the auburn-haired beauty instinctively inclined forward, anticipating his next agile move.

"…Wait a minute. You're not stalking me, are you?" He whispered conspiringly.

Crystallised soft laughter echoed pleasantly, her head falling gently back and exposing her graceful neck to his enthusiastic notice – the young contractor greedily absorbing such an unaffectedly provocative lure that was as refreshing as the morning dew. Unknown to the striking female, the suave composure of her acquaintance took on a much sharper edge; much more powerful, smouldering and **dangerous**.

By the time merry green orbs lifted back up, the darkened gaze was instantly replaced by Jackson's easygoing demeanour – yet, managing to appear still so very _male_.

Thoroughly pleased at having to be quick on her toes for the first time since the beginning of this disastrous evening, Lisa was about to easily counter with a witty comment until her long forgotten blind date came rushing back to the table. Panting uncontrollably – as if he had sprinted the entire way – and clutching onto his mobile phone like it was his lifeline, Alex simply stared at Lisa with wide frantic eyes.

Not even casting Jackson a second glance, the programmer began wildly throwing his hands around, as if there were no proper words available to verbally communicate whatever was floating around in his head. A very much speechless yet frenetic Alex continued such hysterics for another good minute – never once noticing the cold, critical blue orbs staring mercilessly.

Jackson Rippner's posture was calm and relaxed with one hand uncaringly stuffed in his pant pocket.

And yet, Lisa could not help but think there was something…**predatory** in his demeanour.

But it evaporated immediately, almost as if she had imagined the entire thing.

"I'm so sorry, Lisa! There seems to have…looks like there's an unknown virus spreading all over the company's computer system! It's…My Gods! I am so, so sorry about this. I'm going to have to-"

Twisting back and forth, picking up his jacket, dropping it back down again before wrinkling the bill from one hand to the next; Lisa watched in what had to be a grotesque combination of amusement and sympathy as the disoriented young man finally made it out the restaurant, practically tossing the paper notes for the evening meal.

Stunned at the unexpected development, the pretty hotel manager simply gawked at the abrupt departure in amazement.

"…Composed guy," amused blue eyes offered. "Now, how about that drink I still owe you?"

Grinning at the appealing proposition, Lisa leisurely took a sip from her newly refilled wine glass. In truth, she could not work herself to regret the exit of her blind date as well as the unconventional turn of events.

"If I remember correctly, you got it wrong last time, forfeiting the right to pay."

Poised and completely comfortable in her own skin, the remark was presented with an endearing sassy smile.

Pulling out the opposite chair – the very one that Alex had been occupying not a moment past – Jackson situated himself in effortless ease. Radiating such confidence that left no doubt of his belonging, the assertive male signalled a nearby waiter for the menu.

"Give a guy a second chance to redeem himself. I can't let my reputation be tarnished in such ways."

Faint chuckles arose from both parties.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say **you** planted the computer virus just to get another chance at guessing my favourite beverage." Leaning alluringly against the table, mesmerising green orbs teased back.

"Never underestimate the length a man would go to have dinner and drinks with a beautiful woman." The contractor truthfully revealed.

_The hidden meaning could not have been so blatantly visible_.

Nevertheless, the other remained completely oblivious to such intentions; not fully aware of the impressive force that was Jackson Rippner.

"As long as it's not Bay Breeze, you've got yourself a deal."


End file.
